


mister stark, i broke my butt

by bstarship



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Embarrassed Peter Parker, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Minor Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker Has a Crush, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but it wasn't this, i don't know what i originally had in mind, peter will never live this one down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: What happens when a kid with arachnid powers tries to show off to his crush in gym class? A cracked coccyx and a bruised ego, of course. Plus, the lovely company of Tony Stark making fun of him for breaking his ass.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 189





	mister stark, i broke my butt

“This is worse than when Coach Wilson came to school with the flu and made us run eight laps,” said a classmate. She had her chin in her hands, gym clothes wrinkled against her while they all sat on the bleachers in painful silence. A few others agreed, and the quiet, curious chatter commenced. 

They weren’t being punished for a reckless class prank, nor were they watching another instructional video from the star-spangled man himself. The end-of-term evaluations weren’t for a few more weeks. They had all gone into the locker rooms believing that they would play a rousing game of dodgeball for an hour and a half. But, instead, four scary figures stood before them like army soldiers clad in dark cargo and tight-fitted t-shirts. Trainers, they said. _Avengers_ trainers. 

Like the Avengers needed trainers. 

Yet, it was true. Peter had let out a sigh of relief once he realized he had the advantage. In technical terms—yet not official ones—he was an Avenger. He could take what they gave him. A chorus of nervous whispers filled the gymnasium when the four trainers announced who they were. They would lead a few drills, run the class through a rope course, and go over a few “Captain America-level” exercises. The news made Flash blanch.

Not a worry clouded Peter’s mind. He had spent a few weekends up at the compound a handful of times before, all on Tony’s accord. But there, Peter was Peter. Spider-Man was not on their radar—that he knew. Now, he felt as though he had nothing to worry about.

Until they stepped outside onto the football field where the rope course was set up. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Flash uttered, clenching his stomach. 

MJ rolled her eyes beside him. “You know you’re only being graded to participate,” she said to him. “You don’t actually have to care.”

“Are you kidding?” he retaliated. “These people have trained Spider-Man. I can’t just _not_ show off for them. They need to know that I’m good enough to be an Avenger.” He folded his arms over his chest as she held in a laugh.

“Sure,” she said, “cos’ they’ll definitely think you’re good enough to be an Avenger.”

Ned tapped on Peter’s shoulder. “Do you know these people?” he whispered low enough for no one to hear. 

Peter shook his head. “No. I don’t train there; remember? I don’t actually train at all now that I think about it. Mister Stark just gives me cool tech stuff to make up for it. I mean, I’m pretty much an Avenger, but I’m too good for these guys.”

Ned seemed convinced, mouth falling open slightly as he nodded at his friend’s statement. Any topic concerning Spider-Man or the Avengers these days seemed to interest him to no end. If conversations wore thin, all Peter had to do was bring up a robbery from the night before to keep them entertained. 

“They creep me out,” Ned said a second later. “I feel like they’re recruiting us.”

“Yeah, to be Avenger food,” MJ interjected. “Great idea—let’s get a few dozen teenagers at some nerd school to train like they’re in the military. That way they’ll think they’re good enough to be a superhero mutant with a one in a billion chance of it actually happening. Yeah. Terrific. They’re just gonna chew us up and spit us out like we’re nothing.”

Peter raised a brow at her statement. He always fought back the urge to tell people the truth—MJ specifically. But bragging about his one-in-a-billion-chance superpowers proved to be too dangerous for his own good. The Daily Bugle would eat him for breakfast, not to mention every supervillain that ever existed. The anonymity was nice. He only wished that his real identity could receive a percentage of the attention. 

Meanwhile, as they talked quietly to themselves, the four trainers stood like wardens before them, talking through the drills and exercises with their furrowed brows. Peter was thankful to not know them—he, too, was terrified by them. 

“I’m gonna fake a headache in like, ten minutes,” MJ muttered to herself. “That way no one has to see me climb that make-shift rope wall.”

“I hope Parker gets stuck in there,” Flash said. He smirked through his faux confidence. “It’ll be my third viral video this month.”

“Flash, getting a thousand views doesn’t count as going viral,” Ned countered. 

The class was broken up into three “squadrons”, as they called it. One squad took the rope course, the other ran through drills, and the third was stuck practicing burpees on the other end of the field. After thirty minutes, they would switch off, and so on. But Peter wasn’t nervous, at least not like Flash. He could lift a few tons with ease—how hard could a rope course be?

“If I throw up—” Ned began with a huff. 

They had started off their drills with a four-lap run around the track. _I_ _t should only take each of you fifteen minutes max_ , one said, which Peter thought was quite ableist and, frankly, annoying. Without his asthma, he could run with ease. Others couldn’t say the same. 

“—I want to be the one to yell at Tony Stark,” Ned finished. “So he can fire these—these _assholes._ ”

“Not sure if he’s the one doing the hiring and firing,” Peter said, “but I can get him to sign some form so you never have to do gym class ever again.” 

“That works for me.” 

Peter stayed by his friend’s side throughout the run. It was a lucky break that their class took place in the morning. As the temperatures turned cooler later into the fall, the mornings were hazy with fog and comfortable air. None of that seemed to matter, however, for running a mile in mesh shorts was still hell. 

On the third lap, Peter stopped to tie his shoelace, and when he stood back up to run again, the fifth scary figure of the day caught his eye. Except for this one, in his shorter stature and three-piece Armani suit, wouldn’t make fifty students run until their feet bled. This one—in Peter’s opinion—had no reason to be here at all.

“Ned, is that—?”

Peter didn’t have to finish his question as his best friend followed his gaze to the man. Students ran the track around them as they stood in puzzlement at the sight. 

“Dude, why’s Tony Stark here?” Ned asked lowly, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. “Did you do something wrong?” That was followed by a gasp. “Oh, my God! There’s a mission. He’s come to pick you up for a mission.”

“No, there’s not a mission, Ned,” Peter said. He eyed the man in the distance. “Do you think he knows I’m here?”

“I mean, how could he not?” 

Peter raised a brow. 

“He knows like, everything about you,” Ned told him. “I think he would know what school you go to.”

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Peter said, letting out a sigh. 

“You can’t just go _talk_ to—oh wait, you can. Just kidding.”

He shrugged and laughed. “Yeah, luckily for me, I’ve already passed the _oh-em-gee Tony Stark, I’m your biggest fan_ phase. Besides, I just wanna know why he’s here. He’s never been here before—like _never_ , and this seems like a pretty insignificant reason if you ask me.”

“Tell him to buy us new vending machines while you’re over there.”

Peter jogged down the track with his head low. He hadn’t spoken to Tony since the night he spilled hot silicon on his workshop floor over a week ago. Peter didn’t count the rare meme he received last Tuesday at three o’clock in the morning. When he looked back up toward the school, Tony was standing with his arms crossed while in mid-conversation with Coach Wilson. A look of regret peaked out from behind his sunglasses. Happy stood there right beside him.

“Mister Parker, you need a bathroom break or something?” asked Coach Wilson as Peter slowed on his approach. 

Tony only reacted with a hint of a smile. He unfolded his arms and set his hands down into the pockets of his trousers.

“No, I, uh—”

“I got this, Coach,” Tony said, raising a hand. “This one’s the protégé I was telling you about.”

Coach Wilson blinked a few times. “This is the Spider-Man?” 

“No, no—” Tony laughed. “Peter? Spider-Man? Hilarious. Kid can’t even keep track of his cell phone these days. No, he’s just my intern. Well, _former_ , now. Breaks my little heart to say it.”

Peter shrugged and chuckled along nervously. “Yeah. Just wanted to say hi.”

Tony’s smile grew as he placed an arm around Peter. “Can you believe this guy?” he said to Coach Wilson. “We’ve known each other a year and all he can say is _‘hi’_? Please. I deserve a little more than that.”

“Actually, I did wanna talk to you about something.”

From above the sunglasses, Tony’s forehead wrinkled, and his eyebrows lowered deep enough to not be seen. He titled his chin so Peter could see the whites of his eyes. “Okay,” he said, leading them toward a metal bleacher. “Let’s have a chat.”

“Make it quick, Parker,” Coach Wilson called. “You’ve got another lap to run.”

“This looks like absolute hell.” Tony sat down and motioned to the field of students. “Thank God I’m not in high school anymore. Tried running track once—barfed like there was no tomorrow. What’d you wanna talk to me about?”

Peter pressed his hands between his knees. He could feel the cool metal of the bleacher seep through his mesh shorts. “Why’re you here?” he asked, leaning over. He could handle swinging from borough to borough in a record amount of time, but three-quarters of a mile kept him panting for breaths. 

“Figured you’d ask that,” Tony said as he pushed up his glasses. “Is it a crime to be here and creep on you at school? Okay. That came out wrong.”

Peter huffed out a small laugh. 

“Heard through the grapevine that some school districts hooked up a deal with the facility upstate,” continued Tony. “Actually, technically I’m the boss, so I signed off on it. It’s been going on for about a month now. Statistics show that kids these days love superheroes, so we figured—why not show ‘em how to train like one?”

“This is nothing like being a superhero,” Peter said. 

Tony laughed and rested his arm over the back of the bench. “Yeah. Kinda sad, innit? Pretend to show these kids how Avengers train when in all actuality the Avengers don’t even _exist_ anymore, so… kinda redundant but the state loves it.”

“That doesn’t answer why you’re here, though.”

“To tell you the truth, Mister Parker,” Tony said, sighing, “I made sure that Midtown was hit up so I could personally embarrass you in front of your classmates. Is it working?” 

“Maybe if you were yelling at me from across the field through a megaphone, yeah,” Peter told him. “Okay, wait—don’t get any ideas. I do _not_ want you to do that.”

Tony cracked a grin, and through the brown tint of his sunglasses, Peter could see the laugh lines beside his eyes. “Oh, Pete—” Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder. “—you’re gonna regret saying that. Go on, kid. Go show them what it means to be an Avenger.”

“Wait, does that mean I’m an—”

" _No_ , now go,” he said, pushing Peter up to his feet. 

Before Peter ran back to meet up with Ned, he waved over at Happy who was standing behind them with his hands behind his back. Awkward was a nice way to put it. “Hey, Happy,” Peter said.

Happy gave him a tight smile. “Hey, kid. May doing well?” 

“Doing great,” Peter answered. “She’s been into pottery lately. If you want a dozen mugs, please take them. Please. We have so many.”

“I’ll be sure to give her a call.”

“You have her number?”

Happy blinked a few times. “I—uh, sure. Yeah. For Spider-Man reasons of course.”

Peter quirked a brow, but he chose not to question it as he backed away slowly. If Happy was acting weird because of May, maybe May would act weird because of Happy. The thought alone made Peter shiver with discomfort, so he pushed it aside and jogged back onto the field. 

He trusted that the rope course would be easiest for him. With his sticky hands and feet, excellent agility, and a keen sense of balance, he was sure to make it up and over the wall with ease. He didn’t have a single worry in the world until MJ shouted:

_“Hey loser, don’t fall!”_

His heart rate spiked. Knowing himself, he had a tendency to lose all composure at the worst times. His nerves took over before he could push them away. MJ seemed to be the only one to cause this reaction in him, and he still didn’t know why. But he knew that the top of the rope wall now appeared so far, and all he wanted was to be back on the ground next to her. 

_Just a few more feet, Peter. You got this. Only a few more feet._

He took a slow deep breath in, thoughts clouding so he could forget about her presence below him. He wrapped his hand around the rope tightly. 

“Guys, I was totally right,” Flash said from down below, “that _is_ Tony Stark over there.”

“Flash, no one cares,” MJ told him. 

Peter was growing tired, and every single one of his muscles was on fire. By this point, he only wanted to show MJ what he could do. He didn’t want the satisfaction from anyone else. As he shifted his hand, his foot slipped from the rope wall. So much for being sticky when the one thing that made you nervous was standing twenty feet below. Peter couldn’t catch himself in time before he met the turf. The pain splintered through him like electricity. 

“Ow, my butt,” he mumbled out, turning over to reach where his lower back met his tailbone. 

“Whoa, Peter—” MJ knelt by his side. “—you good?” 

He looked up at her through a tight wince and managed a nod. “Y-yeah, I—” He groaned as he lifted himself up onto his knees. “Maybe not.”

“Hey, Penis Parker!” Flash called. “I think the whole point of climbing a wall is to actually _get over_ the wall.”

MJ shot him a look from over her shoulder. “Flash, shut up. He’s actually hurt.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine—” Peter waved a hand while MJ hoisted him up with his other one. The pain was too much for him to notice the heat in his cheeks from her touch. “It’ll heal. I’m fine.” 

“I’m gonna get Tony,” Ned said before rushing off. 

The amusement on Flash’s face was priceless. But also punch-worthy. “Tony? Tony Stark? Yeah. Sure. And I’ll just go get Thor to mow my lawn for me.” 

“Can you walk?” MJ asked Peter quietly, avoiding Flash’s comment. 

Peter nodded. With her arm looped around his, he felt fine. He felt fine until he moved his torso, and then the pain radiating up his spine reminded him of the twenty-food drop he took a moment prior. “I can probably cry. Is that a good sign?” 

MJ managed a smile. “Sure. Normal human emotions are a good sign.”

Ned had already met up with Tony across the track. They had heard about each other in countless conversations, but despite a whole year going by, their first time officially meeting was over Peter’s broken butt. Peter was already humiliated as it was that Tony was here. Now, the entire gym class had seen him fall on his ass—in front of MJ no less. 

“What seems to be the problem here?” Tony asked once he crossed over onto the field. He lowered his sunglasses farther down his nose. 

“Oh, my God,” Flash said, eyes wide and slightly horrified. “You’re—what are you—do you really know Peter?”

Tony, giving one judgemental stare down at Flash, glanced back up at Peter. “This the kid that calls you _Penis_?” 

As if it were possible, Flash’s eyes widened even more. “Tony Stark knows about me?” he squeaked out. 

“Peter fell on his ass,” MJ said, cutting Flash off as she shouldered him aside. 

Peter ducked his chin to avoid anyone’s gaze. 

“Ah, bummer,” Tony muttered. “Hit your head?”

“No.”

“Break an arm?”

“No.”

“A leg?”

“Mister Stark, I _broke_ my _butt_ ,” Peter said firmly.

The man answered with a laugh and a nod. “Okay, okay. Feel like going to the Emergency Room?” 

Peter looked around at all of the faces. Twenty pairs of eyes were on him. “Anywhere’s better than here,” he said. 

MJ’s arm loosened around Peter’s, and he didn’t know how much he liked having her around until she let go. The more he thought about it, the more the embarrassment of falling sank in. He would never have another normal gym class without Flash warning him not to fall on his ass in the middle of wiffle ball. 

Tony draped his arm over Peter’s shoulder and led him away from the class. “So,” he said once they were out of earshot, “who’s the girl?”

“Shut up.”

A cracked coccyx. Peter had a cracked coccyx, but nothing was worse than the pain from how bruised his ego was. He hadn’t needed Tony Stark showing up in the middle of gym class on a random Friday in October. He hadn’t needed a twenty-foot rope wall that he could have easily conquered had MJ not been watching—it wasn’t her fault, of course. Even he wasn’t aware of how he felt until he landed on the ground before her. 

With a makeshift ice pack diaper—as Tony called it—Peter sat at the hospital with him for three hours. There wasn’t a single non-humiliating thing about the moment. Peter, lying on a bed with his back facing up so his butt wouldn’t hurt. Tony, sitting there and playing Candy Crush while the doctor announced that Peter had, in fact, cracked his tailbone. It was far worse than the time Peter got his head stuck in a toilet seat during flu season. 

Once they were back in Tony’s car, Peter let out a dramatic sigh.

“Whoa there, Napoleon Dynamite, don’t get too emotional on me,” Tony said, patting Peter on the knee. “We don’t have to go back to school if you don’t want to.”

“No, I mean—no, I don’t want to,” Peter muttered. “This—it’s just stupid.”

“Why?” Tony raised his brow as they pulled out of the parking lot. “What’s stupid? Politics? Cos’ I agree. Politics are stupid.”

“I broke my butt,” Peter said. “I broke my literal _ass_ , Mister Stark.”

That made Tony chuckle, but he quickly cleared his throat to compose himself. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny. No, actually, it _is_. But I am sorry. It’s unfortunate.”

“The worst part of all was that I did it in front of everyone,” Peter continued, folding his hands in his lap. “In front of you, Ned, Flash, MJ… those trainers that I don’t even think work for you.”

“Worse things have happened,” Tony said. “I peed myself in my suit once.”

Peter cracked a small smile.

“Like I said, worse things have happened,” Tony repeated with a shrug. “It had been my birthday—I was dying, so I threw some big party, got super drunk, peed my suit, and then the entire world saw me fight with my best friend. It was no accident that he flew off with my suit that night. I mean, I was _dying_.”

“War Machine’s origin story involves you peeing in your suit?”

“You know, I don’t know if I’ve really thought about it that way before.”

The muscles in Peter’s cheeks loosened as his smile slowly grew. Tony was right—worse things had happened. A cracked tailbone was nothing compared to the pain Peter had endured many times before. On the plus side, it would be healed by the weekend, and he could go to school on Monday with the past behind him. He would never hear the end of it, but he was okay. 

“So, you’ve got a broken butt,” Tony carried on, “and neither of us have bothered to tell May about it.” 

“She’s gonna kill you.”

“Me? Why not you?”

“I’m the one with the broken butt,” Peter said, laughing. “She’s gonna blame you for not telling her. She’s gonna feel sorry for me.”

Tony grimaced and said, “I say we just get burritos and forget any of this ever happened. Forget I was even at your school today cos’ I’m never going back. Ever. High school kids are punks.”

“I’m a high school kid.”

“And you’re a punk.” 

“ _Y_ _ou’re_ a punk.”

“See what I mean?”


End file.
